So… I tried to sit in my computer area, and found it is freaking hot in the summer time. My husband, being the loving supporting man he is, took me to target to get a fan. I also got more supplies for my desk, for building databases and make notes on my stories. Yes I actually do that since I listen to music as I build. And I build on paper to make sure everything flows. So much easier than building the dang thing and remembering that they wanted something afterwards. It can be added, but so much easier if you have it there first.

So the fan… I opened it, promptly retrieving the tie down part from my kitten who was going to eat it. I read the instructions. (I know a freaking shock to men, people actually reading those things!), plugged in the febreeze cartridge and turned it on. And proceeded to laugh as my kitten, named Morgan, aka prissy, aka princess, aka (when she is a brat) Morgan le Fey, paced on the floor meowing at the fan for five minutes.

After she didn’t get an answer from the fan, she decided to hunt it, and perched on the arm of my desk chair, glaring at the poor oscillating fan as it merrily turned, doing its job.

Now, for some reason, Morgan doesn’t meow as a normal cat. She makes this soft mewling noise. And whe she jumps down, everyone swears she has a squeaker toy lodged in her because she makes a noise. And whe she wants comfort, she come up and make that noise, and like all good humans, we are supposed to know what she is saying. Unfortunately, I failed in my class, and so did my husband cause half the time we have no idea what she is saying.

Today was the same. She came to me crying piteously, and eventually hid in the blanket I had behind me. My husband came back in the room, and she ran to him, hoping to escape the mean fan, that is just doing its job.

My husband caught her and looked at me, hoping I could translate the noise. I told hi about her actions, and he decided to end this by making her face her fears. Needless to say this was done, but with glaring eyes, flat ears and by trying to escape the mean machine. After a couple of minutes, my husband let her leave. She followed him, grumbling (since that is the only sound we could figure was the closest to this noise and action) and making it clear she is not happy.

Needless to say, right now, she is still pissed, and went to her throne aka the computer chair in front of the fan, not caring about anything but proving how much better she is than Marty by ignoring him, as the fan continues to blow on her…

I love my pets…

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